


Hunger

by OwlosaurusRex



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Reibert - Freeform, a plague sort of thing I guess, not zombies, part of something bigger, suggested cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:49:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4037533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlosaurusRex/pseuds/OwlosaurusRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world ravaged by disease and famine, Bertholdt finds himself with a man he'd never expected to see again, a long-lost friend and past lover. The years of struggle and "survival" have not been kind to Bert and he feels unworthy of Reiner's kindness and companionship.</p>
<p>Written for a class to a prompt that required a "flashback" and needed to include a box given as a gift. It was a really odd prompt but seemed to turn out nicely.<br/>This fits in to a larger story I have planned out and stashed away somewhere and maybe someday I will finally get around to writing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> This was pretty shoddy before I edited it and might still have some errors and ucky prose. If I ever get back to this project I will clean it up nicely.

Bertholdt shut the door behind them as quietly as possible, the grating shriek of the splintered wood and ancient hinges making him flinch. Reiner had already wandered further into the old farmhouse, his footsteps nearly silent save for the occasional creak of floorboards. Bert didn't speak, hardly breathed, until Reiner returned.

"Are you sure there's no one here?" Bert stared up at the ceiling as if he would be able to spot whatever might be lurking in the upper floors.

"Everything looks the way I left it earlier this week," Reiner said, offering as much of a comforting smile as he could muster. "But I'll check upstairs to be safe." He stepped over to a faded sofa, its blue flower-flecked pattern coated heavily in dust and marked by dark stains Bert didn't care to think about.

"Stay here and I'll be right back." Reiner dropped his bag on the sofa with a pitiful squeak of old springs. He took his knife and left the rest.

"There's a backdoor through the kitchen, if anything happens," he said and must have noticed the anxious look on Bert's face because he softened.

"Hey, I'm telling you, there's no one here. Just relax a bit; God knows you need it after such a long trek." Reiner shook his head and turned to leave.

"Just be careful, okay?" Bert felt his words scratch at his throat as they crawled their way up into his dry mouth. Reiner hesitated before flashing one of his cocky grins and disappearing into the musty depths of the house. Bert listened carefully, tracking the shuffle of Reiner’s boots until he could hardly hear them anymore.

Left alone, he looked around the room to distract his rampant thoughts. It was a small room, cluttered with furniture and useless knickknacks that had probably brought some old couple a great deal of happiness at one point. There was the stained couch, a matching chair with torn cushions, a crumbling stone fireplace, and a bookshelf near the door to the kitchen. Books lay scattered around the room, littering the floor with their crumpled carcasses and browned pages, brittle and nearly invisible in places beneath the thick layer of dust and dirt. Bertholdt might have felt more for their loss had he been back at the university, but now these books were only good for feeding fires.

He stepped over to the couch eyeing the boarded up window as he passed, and carefully lowered himself onto the protesting cushions. His body ached from the sudden reprieve, muscles twitching restlessly. After days of hiking through trees and dashing across wide swathes of dangerously barren farmland, Bert was running on fumes. He tucked his arms into the frayed gray fabric of his coat to thaw the chill in his bones, but the frosted air from outside still managed to dig into him. It whistled eerily when it gushed through the gaps of the house and the boarded windows, offering tales of the approaching long winter months and their sapping cold and even scarcer food supply. Just the thought of it, the cold, the scavenging, the _food,_ made Bert's stomach churn, acidic bile burning at the back of his throat.

He did his best not to think about it, tried to forget it had even happened, but it was impossible. It was a part of him now. It was a part of all of them in the clan. Survival, they called it. It was always worst just before winter struck.

Bert could feel himself drifting, his eyes losing focus, staring through the sun-bleached boards, past the leafless woods and the deserted city, back to the warehouses and bunkers of the old automobile factory. It had been his home for so long he was certain he'd never be able to wash the memories away. He'd always be a part of it, joined with the others by their collective inhuman deeds. By their means of “survival.”

His breathing quickened. He tried to think of something else but his thoughts disintegrated beneath the weight of his guilt. He couldn't hear his thoughts over the screaming.

Bert hadn’t had a choice, not the first time or the fifteenth, and they told him it was _necessary_. There were too many mouths to feed and how could he let them starve? There were children there. Children innocent to what was happening.

The thought of the little ones taking part in such animalistic instinct, becoming the terrible creatures hunger created, was nearly enough for him to refuse. He’d considered it. He’d nearly offered himself up rather than spread the red stain on his conscience, but Bert knew that if he didn’t do it someone else would. There was no avoiding the inevitable. There was no escape. No escape for any of them.

_They were food, not people._

Bert remembered every single one of their victims with sickening clarity.

_They were food. Not people._

Hannah, Thomas, Franz, the bald man and his pregnant wife- _Don’t look them in the eye._

They all met him in the cities, the countryside, saw him as a lone wayfarer and welcomed him; some with pity, others with suspicions, but all with that same small glimmer of human compassion. It was something he’d thought extinct. Something that made him _hurt_.

_Don’t look them in the eye. Not people, they weren’t people, they were-_

Innocent. They were innocent.

_Set the trap. He’s the bait._

Commanding voices always prodded him. _Think of the children. Set the trap._

The wanderers had trusted him; some hardly, others fully. Some took him in, offered him food, supplies, or offered to carry him along with their ragtag group of scruffy survivors. Human compassion. Kindness. Those people were- _food._

_Don’t look them in the eye. Hold them still._

A woman named Abigail traveled alone. She didn’t speak much behind her blue patchwork scarf, but she _screamed._

_Food. Survival. Cut them clean, let them bleed._

_Not human. He wasn’t human._

He remembered their eyes- _don’t look at them-_ remembered the various shades of disbelief, of betrayal.

_They were...food._

Food with blonde hair, green boots, a gap in his teeth, and a crack in her glasses. Food with a voice, a name, a family- food with a sense of human morals that he no longer knew. Food that _he_ had eaten.

He wasn’t human. Even though he ran, even though he spared Reiner, he-

jumped violently at the touch to his shoulder, wild eyes darting up to meet the familiar rough face twisted in concern.

“Bertholdt?” Reiner spoke softly and Bert could hardly hear him over the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his chest.

“Bert, are you okay?” The hand on his shoulder tightened slightly and Bert was quick to look away, catching his breath and whatever scraps of composure he could come across.

Reiner’s hand lifted from Bertholdt’s shoulder to touch his chapped cheek and Bert closed his eyes.

“Are you getting sick?” Reiner spoke the words slowly and Bert was surprised to hear the fear in his voice. “If you’re sick just tell me, okay? I’ll try to help you, I can-”

“I’m not sick,” he took a deep breath in and opened his eyes again. “I promise I’m not sick.” When he looked up at Reiner this time he could _see_ him without the red-haze of dread.

“I was just...thinking, that’s all.”

Bert focused on Reiner’s face, picking up every detail from the fine blonde shadow of a beard to his heavy brow and eyes far darker than he remembered. He thought of their supplies, mentally arranging them, counting, recounting, and letting his venomous deeds settle like a fine silt in the back of his mind.

Reiner stared at him in silence and Bert felt like those gold eyes might puncture his very being, might let all of his sins spill out in one great, purging wave. If Reiner found out…

Bert shied away from the thought, turning his attention to Reiner’s touch instead. His fingers were coarse but oddly warm, grounding Bertholdt in the present.

Reiner nodded slowly.

“Okay, Bert.” He smiled at him again and in that moment Bert could see all of Reiner’s trust laid bare and fragile like the solitary string desperately holding onto a button dangling from his coat. Bertholdt’s humanity dangled just as precariously, held only by the thin tendrils of Reiner’s trust and his support.

Reiner was the first to look away, staring at the boarded window and sighing.

“Well, if you’re going to delve into some deep meditative state, you probably shouldn’t do it by the window.” He reached out a hand clothed in a thin, fingerless glove and frowned when he felt the significant drafts seeping in from outside. “Yeah, come sit over here with me.”

Reiner looked at him again, letting his hand fall from Bert’s face in order to help him off the couch.

“We’re not going to use the fireplace since I don’t want to risk them spotting the smoke from the chimney, ya know? So I figured I could just make a small fire in our cooking pot.” Reiner spoke to hide his concern as he watched Bert struggle to rise from the sofa and sway on his feet. He reached out an arm to steady him but didn’t mention the deterioration of Bertholdt’s health.

“Yeah...so I figured we can just use these old cushions and whatever to make a little nest down here in the living room. I don’t think it’s a good idea to rest upstairs in case they do somehow manage to follow us out here. I don’t like the idea of jumping out windows.” He shuddered at the thought, walking slowly to keep up with Bert’s troubled steps.

Bertholdt just nodded along to what Reiner was saying and tried to ignore the tight cramping of his muscles and empty ache of his stomach. He looked at the fireplace and cringed at the thought of giving their location away so easily.

“That’s a good idea and these books should burn pretty quickly. I don’t know if there is anything with more substance around here that isn’t varnished or something. I have a feeling those fumes aren’t good for you.”

Reiner chuckled, a low, dry sound that held mirth once, and stopped near the fireplace. He made sure Bert was steady on his feet before going back to gather their bags and the gritty couch cushions heavy with grime. He tossed them on the floor with a great puff of dust that rose in grainy clouds and made them both cough. Once all had settled he arranged them in some semblance of a bed and toppled the old chair over so they might lean against its back.

Bertholdt was slow to sit, gripping the fallen chair tightly and struggling to fold his thin, reluctant legs beneath him. Reiner sunk down beside him with an overly dramatic grunt.

“Christ, I’m getting old,” he joked, sighing as though that was the worst of his problems.

Bert rubbed at his legs, trying to soothe his defiant muscles.

“No older than I am, Reiner. I never thought 25 was ‘old’.”

“Yeah, well that doesn’t mean I _feel_ 25, ya know? Cause I don’t.” Reiner snorted and pulled their dented metal pot from his bag. It was small, charred, and hosted thick old wire as its handle. Reiner was always burning his hand on it when they boiled water for drinking.

Reiner dragged one of the books over with the grating sound of dirt on wood and started tearing out pages and wadding them into little combustible clumps, dropping them in one by one. The soft thunks of each clump settling in among its brothers was a welcome sound, it soothed the silence and distracted from the creaks and groans of the dilapidated house.

Bertholdt felt the weight of his choices dragging on his shoulders. They were fastened tight, a permanent installation that made him feel the perpetual burning of guilt.

Reiner had finished with the paper and was struggling to get a spark from his flint when Bertholdt realized just how dark it had gotten. Dark, chilled, heavy. The brittle paper finally caught and Reiner coaxed it to life with a gentility that opposed every aspect of his broad frame and rugged manner. He was a giant beside a ghost.

“There we go. That should at least offer _some_ warmth, I guess. Though I do worry about those windows.” Reiner eyed the gaps through which their feeble little flames would shine brightly, a beacon for those on the hunt. “I guess it can’t be helped. I really don’t think they’d be able to track us through those woods, though.” He shrugged as though it were a trifling matter and fed the flames another page. He continued to speak about future plans, routes of travel, safe houses he’d found on his way in, and the ultimate goal of a new society nestled in the north. Bertholdt only half listened. The promise of finding others was not a welcome thought to him. People were vile. He was vile.

“Reiner?”

He stopped mid-speech and looked up from the book he was ripping in half. Bertholdt caught a glimpse of something then, something fleeting and foreign in Reiner’s gaze. He might have called it hope, if that were possible.

Suddenly, the panicked words that had welled up from the murky waste of his mind scattered. They were slick and fearful and difficult to grasp.

Reiner set the book down in his lap, looking at him with a certain amount of apprehension.

“Reiner...I’ve had a lot of things to think about since I found you in the city.” Bert plucked each word from the muck with great care, dry lips forming them cautiously. “I never expected to see you again, after the outbreak...and certainly not _there_ , under those circumstances...” He couldn’t look at him and stared instead at the hungry little flames that mocked him with their energy and life.

“I think-I think it might be best if I...well...the people that are after us-”

“Now, hold on a second, Bert,” Reiner’s voice easily rose up to wash Bert’s away though without any real force behind it. Reiner shifted on the cushions, folding his legs and hunching his shoulders as he faced Bert.

“I know you’ve had a lot on your mind, I can tell,” Reiner paused and looked down at Bertholdt’s hands that trembled in his lap, his long fingers too thin just like the rest of him. “And I can also tell that what’s been bothering you is...well, it’s certainly personal, I think. I just- I don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to tell me anything. You get what I’m saying?” He paused again, looking up at Bert’s face.

“I want you to tell me what you want to _when_ you want to without you feeling as though it is some sort of necessity for us to travel together. It’s not. I _guarantee_ that whatever you have to tell me won’t get in the way of...well, us,” he shrugged his heavy shoulders and drummed his fingers on his boots.

“I just want to help you, Bert, and if that means staying in the dark then I’m okay with that. I’m okay with that.” Reiner flattened his hands on his legs and gave a decisive nod.

“So...just try not to let all of _that,_ ” he reached out to tap Bert’s forehead, “drag you down, kay?”

Bertholdt didn’t even have time to flinch, looking confused by the playful gesture. He didn’t dare meet Reiner’s gaze, fled from it and stared instead at the bony angles and cracked skin of his hands.

Bertholdt studied them closely, counting his knuckles, counting them again; letting Reiner’s words develop properly while keeping the panic at bay. He looked up gradually, drawn by the sudden deep and terrifying realization that came with Reiner’s cautious comforts.

_He knew._

It shook Bertholdt at his core. Somehow Reiner knew. He must.

Bertholdt felt exposed. This _thing_ that he had been so ready to discuss moments before quickly grew, swelling with a new breed of guilt born from secrets.

He felt so _unworthy_. Unworthy of life and unworthy of him.

The warmth of Reiner’s hand on his own was startling.

“What did I _just_ say about all of that heavy thinking?” Reiner leaned forward and ducked his head in an attempt to catch Bert’s eye and draw him back to the present. Bert was visibly shaking now.

“I-I’m sorry.” The words were so simple yet so heavy in Bertholdt’s throat, on his tongue, and in his eyes.

Reiner gave his hand a squeeze, carefully drawing him closer so Bert leaned against his shoulder.

“I know.” Reiner lifted his free hand to tuck stray locks of black hair back beneath Bert’s cap. They stayed like that a long while until Reiner finally stirred.

“Hey, I have something I want to show you.” He gently nudged Bertholdt’s shoulder so he would look up.

“It’s something important. Something I’ve been carrying around for a long time now.” he smiled as though he meant to build some suspense before he leaned over to his bag and rummaged around inside.

Bertholdt pulled his coat tighter around his long thin frame and quietly mourned the momentary loss of Reiner’s body heat.

“Here it is.” Reiner leaned back again, producing a small wooden box. It looked as though it had been a jewelry box at one time though now the wood was worn and scratched and the lid was held on by two faded rubber-bands. He presented the box as if it were some great treasure.

Bert frowned at it.

“What is it?”

“This, Berty dear, is called a box-”

“Oh my God, Reiner, what is _inside_ the box?”

Reiner couldn’t help his triumphant grin at hearing the amusement in Bertholdt’s voice. It was faint, but alive.

“Well that’s the question, isn’t it?” Reiner removed the rubber bands, careful not to snap them and set them aside before gently pressing the box into Bertholdt’s chilled hands.

“It’s just a few things that I like to carry around with me. Sometimes, when I get a little...down, I take a little peek in here and it helps me put everything into perspective.”

Reiner rattled on until Bertholdt lifted the lid.

His own face greeted him. A younger face and a happier one.

“What...is this?” Bertholdt didn’t want to touch it at first, was almost afraid of remembering what was lost, though eventually he reached in with two cautious fingers and slid the picture out. He handled it gently, saw the fading at the edges and a missing corner, and knew that this was the last of its kind. Unique. Something special.

Reiner leaned over to look at the picture as well, resting his head on Bert’s shoulder in a lazy manner.

“That, Bertholdt, is you and me,” he pointed at each of them in turn as if Bert didn’t know who the boys were in the picture, “at the senior prom.” Reiner couldn’t help but laugh at their vests and matching ties. Bertholdt was still a gangly teen looking shy but excited. Reiner just looked like the silly fool he was.

“Do you remember?” Reiner looked from the picture up to Bertholdt’s face. “It was the _least_ romantic experience we have ever had.” His laughter bubbled up again, rusty with disuse.

“Oh God...they had it in that small gym with that really bad water stain on the ceiling,” he said, shaking his head as he recalled the whole scene.

“Yeah...wasn’t the theme some underwater something?” Bertholdt stared at their former selves, tried to find where he’d stashed them away in his memories. “Enchantment Under the Sea?” He cast Reiner a glance and he nodded encouragingly.

“And, uh, remember two guys got in a big fight in the hallway out by the cafeteria and they had to call the cops and everything,” Reiner said, finding the whole thing simply hilarious. “Poor guy had his nose busted all up, oh it was _great._ ” His smiles were contagious.

Bertholdt couldn’t help but smile. That poor guy did get the shit beat out of him that night, after all.

“We left early cause I got too nervous and had sweat stains all down my shirt,” Bert added, pressing his free hand to his face as if that could hide his embarrassment.

Reiner hummed in amusement.

“Yeah but we had more fun walking downtown anyway,” he said and reached out to brush his thumb over the old picture. “It might have been the least romantic but it was really special for me.” His voice lowered and he took the picture from Bert’s hand to get a better look at it.

Bertholdt felt another smile coming on, though this one born of fondness.

“It was special for me, too,” he said and Reiner looked up at him as he always used to back when things were simple. He leaned up and butted his head against Bert’s.

“You fucking nerd,” he whispered and settled the picture back in the box beside folded letters tattered from use and a few patches Bert had recognized from Reiner’s old football uniforms.

“See? Don’t those thoughts feel a lot better? I know they come with a definite downside, but, I feel like they are much healthier for you.” Reiner stayed close but looked away, toying with the contents of the box absently.

“Hey, why don’t you hold onto this for me?” he asked, drawing Bert up from his warm memories if only for a moment.

“What? I couldn’t do that Reiner, these are really important to you-”

“Yeah, but so are you.” The words left Reiner’s mouth so quickly Bertholdt almost didn’t catch them.

Bert stared at him as if it were some wild, unforeseen secret and it only made Reiner’s look of adoration all the more _palpable._

“Oh my god, you look just like the picture!” Reiner laughed and Bert could feel heat rising to his face and burning at his cheeks.

“No I don’t! H-Hey! Don’t change the subject; this box is serious business, Reiner.” Bertholdt glared at him though the result was more of a pout than anything else.

“Mhm, serious business, got it.” Reiner just grinned at him and watched Bertholdt blush and fidget, closing the box and thrusting it back in Reiner’s hands.

Reiner didn’t look down at it.

“All jokes aside, I’m serious, Bert. I want you to take this, okay?” He reached back for the rubber bands and carefully sealed his precious memories away. “I want you to take this and whenever you’re really feeling bothered by those troublesome thoughts of yours, maybe you can think of all the silly times we had when we were kids, huh?” he paused a moment before gently offering the box again.

“What do ya say? Humor me?”

Bertholdt stared at the box. It held so much meaning, so much importance and- and he wasn’t worthy of it. When he reached out his hand for it he saw all that his hands had done, all that _he_ had done and those memories of awkward teenage years and high school football games seemed so distant. He hesitated.

“Please?” Reiner’s voice was soft, a quiet plea not for his own sake but for Bertholdt’s.

He knew it and it only made him feel worse about his deeds. Bert took the box reluctantly at first but ultimately held it close, tucked against his chest beneath his coat; where it counted.

Reiner shifted closer still, leaning back against the chair and looping his arm around Bert’s shoulders. He leaned down and Bert could feel the scrape of his beard when he kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, Bert. I appreciate it.” Reiner sounded so happy and he felt so warm, and if Bertholdt tried he could picture them on graduation day. They were smiling and taking pictures. He felt a fragile sense of comfort.

“Now, I’ll take first watch so you try and get some rest.” Reiner gently tilted Bert’s head to rest on his shoulder and Bertholdt couldn’t help but snort in amusement.

“I’m taller than you, this is not comfortable,” Bert mumbled and Reiner just patted his head.

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

Bertholdt smiled an honest, healthy smile and wiggled about until he found something akin to a comfortable position.

“That does not look like sleeping to me.”

“I’m getting there,” Bertholdt said and curled in beneath his coat, clutching his delicate happiness to his chest and stroking its scarred wood. Maybe, for once, he might sleep the whole night through, and maybe, for once, he might dream of more than ghosts.


End file.
